


Initiating Protocol: Irritate the Apprentice

by angelan



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:13:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5477621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelan/pseuds/angelan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HK-47, Revan and Malak have a little chat in the command centre of their flagship, shortly before things go Very Wrong for Darth Revan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Initiating Protocol: Irritate the Apprentice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Burning_Nightingale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Nightingale/gifts).



“That damned thing is following me. Again.”

Revan barely turned her head, much less turned in her chair to face Malak, who was gracelessly clattering into the command centre. Instead, she looked over the information brought to her by a lieutenant and frowned. The Jedi were amassing again, sending scouting ships to the outer rim. They were either being very clever or very stupid, so she authorised a few infiltrators to determine which. Malak, she imagined, would probably want to fly off in a single man cruiser and crush them to death with his bare rage. She should probably let him. Still, she did hold an old affection for him. That, and his crushed jaw reminded everyone not to question her too much.

“I _said_ -“

“And I heard. A great force user like you, running frightened from a mech. It’s a little sad, don’t you think?”

“With riotous agreement: Master, this meatbag quickens its pace by approximately 2.65 centimetres per step when it senses me nearby.”

“I am not _afraid_ of a bucket of bolts. Nor am I a…meatbag. I won’t be insulted by a droid.”

“On the contrary. My programming asserts that you are, indeed, a skin based container, filled to the brim with meat, sloshing around in various liquids. Would you like me to give you a more accurate assessment of your contents? The ‘bag’ to which I refer is approximately seventy percent protein, the remainder being water and fat-“

“Enough!”

A few things happened at once, then. Malak reached for the force and HK reached for a blaster. The few lieutenants in the command centre casually retreated to the door. None of them, she noticed, actually left.

“Master: Do I have permission to remove the rest of this meatbag’s face?”

She sighed. Malak’s purposeless anger was making him a liability. It should have been feeding the war, the way hers was. There were Jedi out there who needed killing.

“Not unless he’s planning to carry on making a fool of himself.”

The droid didn’t lower his blaster.

“Malak. That’s enough.”

All the power receded out of the room like someone had pulled a plug somewhere. The lieutenants slowly filtered back to their stations.  
“You programmed that thing to get on my nerves.” Malak glowered, shaking his head. He was probably slightly abashed that he’d considered challenging her over a mildly insulting droid.

“A most unfair statement, meatbag. I would not wish to step on any of your nerves, slippery and unpleasant as they no doubt are.”

Revan shrugged. “It amuses me.”

“Of course, that’s what we live for. Your little jokes.”

“Watch yourself. Anger leads to the dark side, you know.” 

She smiled. She would have thought, once upon a time, in another life, that going to what they called the dark side would have made you a humourless bastard. Perhaps it had for Malak, but then he’d never been one to get a joke, even before. No, it was amazing how many things were still funny. Some things were even funnier. The way people screamed when they were lit on fire, for one. Running around like they were trying to swat a bluebottle. It was all she could do not to fall about laughing on the battlefield, sometimes.

“We are not Jedi any longer.” 

See. Humourless bastard. He could even frown without a jaw. Maybe his face would be improved if she got rid of his eyebrows. 

“No, we’re at war with them. And they’re sending ships to the outer rim. Fourteen came in when this message was sent. Damned if I know why.” She wafted the intelligence at him.

“Conjecture: I can account for three possibilities. 60% chance the Jedi scum have found something worth pursuing at this location-“

“Ah, I see you also programmed it to state the obvious.”

“Then I must also state the obvious when I refer to your obnoxiously sloshing organs. Is that correct, meatbag?”

Malak didn’t roll his eyes. He was too serious for such a gesture. He grunted in frustration though, and that was nearly as good. She imagined him force choking himself in frustration and found the idea made her smile. Perhaps it was time to take on a new apprentice after all.

“Very well, metalbag, what’s the other 40%?”

“A _most_ original comeback, I congratulate you. The second possibility I calculate with a likelihood of 23%. The Jedi are laying an elaborate trap. Even with their diminished numbers and poor intelligence, they think it possible they can defeat you. Finally, there is always the possibility the Jedi are being stupid morons with no sense. Perhaps they lost a particularly shiny rock in the area. I give this a likelihood of 17%.”

“You have to admit, Malak, that does about cover it. Perhaps I need to tweak your probability algorithms a bit though, HK. Seventeen percent probability that they’re being idiots? That seems far too low.”

“You underestimate them.” Malak was still glowering. Perhaps he’d forgotten how to readjust his expression. She was going to have to teach him to understand jokes one of these days. It was really starting to seem like it would be less hassle just to find a Jedi she liked and turn them to the dark side. Of course, the ‘finding a Jedi she liked’ portion of that would be the trickiest part. 

Surely she couldn’t be the only person to come out of the Jedi order with her sense of humour still functioning. If only Meetra hadn’t had that bloody compulsion to do what she’d been raised to think was right. She’d been a good General. And she’d had a witty way about her sometimes. Marching off to face justice at the hands of the Jedi. Well, if it hadn’t deprived Revan of an ally, it would have been a terrific joke. Justice from the Jedi. Ha!

“Proposition: perhaps they only seem fearsome to you because you are so very frail and squishy? Just alerting you to the possibility.”

Malak groaned. “Are you sure there isn’t something that needs killing. Something very _far away_?”

“With enthusiasm: oh yes master! It has been twenty two standard days since my last termination.”

Revan chuckled. “Getting rusty, are we?”

“With pride: never, master! However, the opportunity to hone one’s skills is always appreciated.”

“Alright, have it your way. There’s a rabble-rouser causing trouble in Mandalorian space. It’d be best if she couldn’t make inspiring speeches any more. I’ll leave the details up to you.”

“Gleefully: I will make the necessary…arrangements, master.”

Malak watched the droid go. He didn’t smile, if he tried that, his face would probably crack (even before the amateur surgery, ha ha), but he stopped glowering like he was trying to burn up the atmosphere without using the force.

“There, see. He’s not going to be following you around for, oh, twelve standard days at least.”

“And the Jedi?”

“We’ll wait and see what they’re up to. When it comes to it, I haven’t made a termination myself in at least twenty two days, maybe more. If they look like trouble, we’ll go and make an example. The Republic needs to learn how to bow to its new leader.”

Malak made a perfunctory bow.

“Of course, Master. It’s just as you say.”

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who is getting into the Star Wars spirit by replaying these games? They're so great! No wonder I wasted so much of my youth playing them. Merry Yuletide!


End file.
